Making The Grade
by MGMK
Summary: In which Brittany S. Pierce doesn't graduate...


_**Making The Grade**_

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note: **Blame the insomnia for this one. And the AMP. Although, I think this is AMP-related insomnia. Also, all typos are my own because I'm BETA-less for a while. Tell me about 'em. I'll fix 'em.

**Summary:** In which Brittany S. Pierce _doesn't_ graduate…

* * *

><p>"Britt, come on," Santana soothes, rubbing gentle circles on her girl's back. "Stop crying."<p>

Brittany sniffles pathetically, her face still tucked into the crook of Santana's neck.

They'd all received their final grades for the year, and while most of Glee club weren't worried about what letters were sitting next to their class names, Brittany'd been anxious for days; not eating or sleeping and her spontaneous bouts of dancing had pretty much gotten down to zero.

Santana (and the rest of the club, Mr. Schuester included) had assured her that she'd have the necessary credits to graduate with everyone else, but…a bitter former-Coach Sue Sylvester turned economics teacher rediscovered that revenge was a dish best served cold.

Really cold.

Like a whole year later, cold.

What better way to get back at her former best cheerleaders than to hurt one and in turn hurt the other.

She still hadn't figured out anything for Quinn, though.

"Forget this," Puck says, standing suddenly. "I say we go 90210 up in this piece. Donna Martin graduates! Donna Martin graduates!"

"Sit down," Lauren grumbles, tugging him back down. "You're embarrassing me."

"While I am alarmed that Noah must have had at least _some_ interest in that television show to make that reference and I am not 'down' with his slang, I too think we should join forces in ensuring that Brittany walks across the stage with us."

"It is pretty ridiculous that Sue's not letting her walk for half-a point," Tina mutters, face clouding over darkly.

"And, Brittany's our friend," Dave speaks up, finally finding his voice after all these years. "It wouldn't be right."

"So, then it's settled," Quinn concludes. "We'll all go to Coach Sylvester and tell her that either Brittany graduates or none of us do."

**...N...**

"Fine."

Quinn's mouth is hanging open and Finn is wondering if it would be appropriate or not to close it.

I mean, what if a fly flew in there?

"Wait, fine?" Santana asks, holding on to Brittany's hand tightly. "Th-that's it?"

"Yes," Sue says shortly, putting her reading glasses back on. "If you all insist on graduating together, then fine; none of you will graduate."

"Oh, hell to the no, Ms. Sylvester," Mercedes snaps, putting her neck-action into overdrive. "I've worked hard these past four years. I'm _going_ to graduate."

"Not if you carry on with Bubbles over here," Sue says smoothly, gesturing in Brittany's general direction. "She can't walk across the stage with you. Now, if you all want to tell your parents that they're going to have to wait to see you get your diploma because Will Schuester has instilled in all of you this disgusting sense of family and belonging and, dare I say it, _inclusion,_ then be my guest. We'll see how Dr. Lopez feels about his only daughter passing on graduating with his colleagues' kids? Or if the Hudson-Hummels are going to be so supportive of Little Porcelain and Finnability when they find out about your little scheme. And I don't even want to think about the Asians."

The Glee club members all look around at one another dejectedly. Operation Graduate Brittany was not going as planned.

"I'll let your little minds wrap around your, well you should be used to it, _failure_. But, please, do it outside of my office. I don't want your tears to ruin the upholstery."

**...N...**

"I don't know you guys," Artie finally says as they're all hanging around in the choir room. "If I wasn't already in this chair my mom'd put me in it if I don't graduate."

The mood is heavy and it gets heavier still when, with a stuttering breath, Brittany pushes herself up off one of the chairs, untangling from Santana as she moves to stand in front of the club.

"Guys, I appreciate what you all have done for me. It was super cool. And I'm not just talking about the graduation thing," she starts, her voice steady with unwavering clarity. "I'm talking about Finn helping me out in freshman gym class by catching every ball that came my way because he knows I zone out during dodge ball. I'm talking about Rachel in music appreciation class, teaching me the notes on the scale by that cool saying – even though San and I came up with a much dirtier one. Or Kurt helping me in Home Ec. with the recipe reading, although, I still don't know what a dash is. And how is it different from a pinch? Or Quinn letting me cheat off her test papers but going over each and every one after we get them back so she makes sure I get it. Or Puck being…Puck. Or Mike, and Tina, and Artie letting me join the Brainiacs even though I'm not, well, I'm not that good at that stuff. And San…Santana for always making sure that I know that I'm not stupid, in spite of what everyone else says."

"You're not," Santana tells her fiercely, tears shining in her eyes.

"I know," Brittany says, smiling even though she feels a lump settling in her throat. "All of you guys have been awesome friends to me in one way or another but…I don't want you to miss out on graduation because of me. Graduation is a onetime thing, and you guys shouldn't miss out on that because of me. I don't want you to."

Rachel, for once in her life, is truly speechless. All she can manage is to croak in the back of her throat and spring from her chair, wrapping her arms around Brittany in a hug that threatens to knock the blonde over, and the rest follow, trickling across the choir room to join the massive group hug.

"I'm gonna kick your ass, Britt," Puck mumbles, wiping at his eyes and standing. "No one makes the Puckombre cry."

"We're going to be screaming so loud for you, B," Quinn says, her throat tight. "When you walk across the stage this summer."

"Totally," Mike agrees, beaming proudly.

Brittany's crying and laughing and she feels a whole lot of emotions, but when she catches Santana's eye, and watches her girlfriend mouth the words 'I love you', everything gives way to the overwhelming euphoria of being loved.

Who gives a crap about a piece of rolled up paper?

**...N...**

"I'm not."

"_Santana_."

They're in Brittany's room, but, that should come as no surprise.

Santana's done a lot of changing this year, from coming out of the closet to her abject refusal to go to that "Liberal politics made me gay" bible camp, but her parents had kind of thrown down the gauntlet when she told them she wasn't graduating without Brittany.

They understood; really, they did. But this was a big deal, this milestone in one's life and they wanted her to experience it.

And, most importantly, her mother wanted to take a crap load of pictures.

So, she'd been spending as little time as possible at home, just to avoid the same circular conversation of:

"You're going."

"No, I'm not."

"You're _going_."

"I'm _not_."

Problem is, now the conversation has migrated along with her.

"Brittany," Santana says, sitting up in the bed suddenly and looking at her girlfriend across the room at the desk chair. Brittany's so committed to passing summer school that she's already read the books on the reading list and, if it weren't for the fact that she was annoying Santana so much right now, she might find it all kinds of adorable that she's reading with that fake monocle she took off that stuffed Mr. Peanut toy. "We've had this conversation, okay? We're a set. When you graduate, that's when I'll graduate."

Brittany puts the book down and tucks the monocle away in her shirt pocket. Slowly, and with a mysterious smile, she makes her way over to the bed, shuffling so that in no time flat she's straddling a too-stunned-by-the-turn-of-events-to-do-anything Santana. She brushes a hand across Santana's forehead, smoothing her brow and sweeping her hair out of her face, before settling that same hand comfortably against a warm cheek. "I love you."

Santana's reply is immediate. "Love you, too."

Brittany's lips twitch upward. "I know you do. And I know that you think waiting to graduate with me is totally romantic and what you _should_ do. And maybe you should," she says, cutting of Santana's protests before they start up. "But…I really want to see you, Santana, my girlfriend, walk across the stage and snatch that diploma from Principal Figgins and pants Ms. Sylvester and hug everyone – even Artie – and smile that ridiculously beautiful smile at me. And I want to look at you and feel all proud of what you've done; what you've accomplished. I can't do that if we're both graduating. I'd be too worried about tripping over my gown or yawning really loudly during a break in someone's speech or, falling asleep. You know large crowds bore me."

Santana smiles, her resolve wavering just a tad. "But Britt-"

"Shh," Brittany says, dropping a quick kiss to more than compliant lips. "Just say 'yes Brittany'. You know you're gonna anyway."

Santana grumbles, not enjoying her whipped-ness being brought up, well, at any time, but it gives way to a hiss when Brittany's highly-skilled fingers find their destination. "Yesss…. _Brittany_."

Works every time.

**...N...**

Nearly every Glee club member got a standing ovation as they walked across the stage.

It pretty much makes sense. I mean, they _did_ win Nationals this year.

Not every Glee club member though, Puck got hoots and then a couple of shrieks when he stripped off the graduation gown.

He'd always had this weird obsession with _The Full Monty_.

After it was all over though and they'd partied (and bullshitted) and every one had made plans to meet up again tomorrow, Santana – still wearing her cap – and Brittany – wearing a smile – enjoyed some nice one-on-one quality time.

"Congrats you're a graduate sex" is like, the best sex ever.

**...N...**

They all do meet up that next day, but at the meet-up after that, Mike and Tina don't show.

And then after that Dave and Artie are absent.

And so it goes, on and on and over and over, until a month and a half passes and everyone's off doing their own thing: settling into music programs, starting internships, or attending university training camps.

The promise they made still lingers in the back of Brittany's mind, though, as Santana straightens her graduation cap on her head.

"Hold still, Britt."

"I can't," Brittany whispers, vibrating with anxiety. "What if I trip on my gown and fall on my face?"

"You're not," Santana snorts, threading another safety pin into silken hair. "You're so freakishly graceful. I swear it's like you're dancing when you walk."

"I am," Brittany says easily, peaking up to catch Santana's gaze. "I'm dancing to our heartbeat."

Santana grins and kisses her gently, lingering for just a moment before her phone vibrates with a text message.

"Who is it?" Brittany immediately asks, pulling away.

Santana glances over the words on her screen, trying to mask her own disappointment for Brittany's sake. "It's your mom. She says 'they're here'."

'Here' is McKinley's gymnasium. The school was not going to shell out the cash to rent a hall like they'd done for the rest of the class.

They could have at least decorated though.

"Oh." Brittany almost visibly deflates and it breaks Santana's heart.

"You know I'm gonna be cheering for you the loudest, right?" Santana says, trying to catch her girl's eye again. Get that magic back.

"Yeah," Brittany smiles warmly, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I know."

"Yeah," Santana returns, pulling her into a tight hug.

**...N...**

Santana's sitting between Brittany's parents and her own when she feels a tap on her shoulder and she turns, eyes lighting up when she sees who it is.

"Mr. Schue?" she says, sounding a lot like Brittany and a lot less like the cold-hearted bitch she's known to be. "You came?"

"Of course," he says, almost looking affronted. "I'm watching all of my kids graduate," he chuckles, patting her shoulder companionably.

She instantly feels one-hundred percent better.

It might not be a grandstand, but at least one more cheerful face can brighten Brittany's day.

**...N...**

McKinley High has got to be the crappiest school in the state because she swears there are more people in this summer school graduation than were in her own and it's hot and the ceiling fans are broken and it takes _forever_ to get to Brittany but when she is standing to the right of the stage, waiting to be called and looking for all the world like she'd going to fall over from nerves, Santana's ready.

She's on her feet, fingers in her mouth and ready to let loose the loudest whistle in history when-

"Phweeet!"

Wait.

That's not her.

And, actually, only one person can whistle like that…

Puck's up on a chair in the back of the crowd, waving a towel or maybe a t-shirt over his head and Finn's there too, clapping madly.

And Rachel.

And Quinn.

And…it's all of them.

They're all here.

Santana's grin so wide, she may just actually break her face, like, no lie, but when she turns back to Brittany, her shouts and clapping loud and thunderous like the rest, she doesn't even care.

**Author's Note #2:** What'd you guys think?


End file.
